


Reunions

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Dancing, Extra Treat, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-22 09:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17660516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: ‘Come, adventurer, from far and away,Return to dance the Macabray.’





	Reunions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



Winter flowers bloomed in the grass, between the stones, and among the tombs. Every now and then they shivered slightly. Most people would have called it the wind. Bod knew better.

“It’s been a long time since the last dance,” he said. “I wonder if I’ll remember the steps.”

“You will,” said Silas. “Some remembrances exist beyond the constraints of mere memory. And sometimes, you need not know the dance at all - it knows you instead. Or so I am told.”

“You’ve never danced it,” Bod observed, and saw the briefest flicker of something cross his old guardian’s face; it was cloud-like, at once soft and grey and wistful, hazy at the edges, gone before it could be grasped.

“Nor will I,” Silas said. “My kind don’t quite qualify. But you will have no trouble joining in, and I am sure the Owenses are very eager to see you. They ask about you often.”

“I’m afraid I won’t know what to say when I see them.”

“I imagine they feel the same way.”

If Bod squinted and tipped his head _just_ so, he was almost sure he could see wisps of white and well-worn grey, floating through the long grass and peeping through the gravestones. Some were trying to attract his attention, he was sure of it. Some were trying to speak. He couldn’t hear them yet. They would grow clearer as the night went on and the music blossomed like the flowers, and then the dance would come, and with it the reunion.

But for now it was evening, and his evening belonged to Silas.

“You’ll dance with me, won’t you?” he asked. “I was hoping you’d be first.”

“No, Bod. It’s not permitted.”

“Before the Macabray begins,” Bod said. “Why not? You’re good at it; I remember, though I think you tried to convince me not to. We danced in masks at a carnival, in the city where half the streets are water. We danced under a sky of stars and green lights, and you taught me about solar winds and the magnetosphere. We danced on the desert dunes, and then you told me that I should have packed a coat because it gets much colder at night. I remember it all. I’ve stepped on your toes more times than I can count.”

“Ah, but I was counting,” Silas said, in a voice more velvety than usual. “It was not as many times as you believe.”

“No,” Bod said. “I suppose not.” He shifted slightly on the wooden bench, so that his knee brushed Silas’ ever so gently, and they could both pretend it had been an accident if they so chose. “I’d like to dance in your home someday. If you don’t mind me visiting.”

Silas looked at him. His eyes were like the soft spaces in between stars, or the opaque night-time waves that lapped at the bows of boats. “My door is open to you, Bod,” he said. “I would warn you that the secrets you might find within will not all be pleasant- but I suspect by now you have seen enough of the world to understand that not everything is black or white. Some things are very complicated indeed.” As he spoke, he offered a hand, palm up, and Bod understood that they were not just discussing Silas’ home anymore.

He took the offered hand; the cold of Silas’ fingers was familiar. And they did not quite hug (because, after all, there were people one could hug, and then there was Silas), but perhaps it could be said that they embraced, as dancers do on winter nights with the white blossoms brushing their ankles.

And though Silas would deny it, Bod was sure that in the evening distance there was music.


End file.
